


I Wouldn't Dream Of Anything More Than This

by GraphiteHero



Series: Boys from Brooklyn [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Boys In Love, Comfort, Crying, Dom Steve Rogers, Fanart, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild S&M, Mutual Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, Top Steve Rogers, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 14:18:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18523279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraphiteHero/pseuds/GraphiteHero
Summary: This dream feels so real, but it can't be real, right? What will Steve think of him now...In which Bucky wakes up from an intense dream about their shared history before the war.





	I Wouldn't Dream Of Anything More Than This

**Author's Note:**

> As always: I make art first, then write stories for them. Have fun. ;)

The sound of scribbling filled the room. He looked up to watch his art subject. Inhaled deeply through his nostrils, closing his eyes for a brief moment, before he let it all out through his mouth as he scribbled further.

The view from their appartment was beautiful indeed: the skyline of New York City was covered in a warm blanket of sunlight. Not a single cloud appeared in the sky. It was a perfect day for relaxation and thus he had grabbed his art supplies as soon as he had woken up that morning. Although he had intended to draw their beautiful city, it was not what he was drawing at the moment.

\-------

You see, a few days earlier Steve had woken up with Bucky in his arms. Their legs tangled together underneath the bedsheets, a comfortable cocoon that smelled faintly of sex and sweat from their intimate activities the night prior.

He looked down at his best mate and gently ran his fingers through the brown locks of hair that partly covered Bucky's face, carefully brushing it away and tucking it behind his ear. Bucky stirred for a moment, smacked his lips together while he drifted awake. It made Steve chuckle. He pressed a kiss to his baby's temple.

Bucky carefully opened his eyes, a bit confused about his surroundings, until he figured his pillow was in fact Steve's chest, warm and soft against his cheek. This was good. He was safe. And he woke up from a dream that was beautiful and felt real. A dream that also made him blush and stoked a fire in his belly. A dream that made his cock stir against Steve's thigh. There's no way his love wouldn't have noticed.

"Good morning sunshine, had a nice dream, didn't ya?" Steve chuckled. Bucky groaned. His blush grew deeper and he tried to hide his face against Steve's chest, murmering something nonsensicle. "Hey hey, none of that," Steve chastised playfully, "look at me babe." He lifted Bucky's chin so that they were face to face. Their eyes made contact first, before Steve continued: "That is the first time I have seen you wake up relaxed and happy. Not with fear and horror in your eyes from nightmares. You can tell me about your dream, if you want to."

He intendly stared into Bucky's eyes, waiting for a yes or no to his answer. Bucky's eyes were open and shining, searching Steve's gaze for confirmation, it seemed. He licked his lips, before he nodded and let his eyes drop. It remained quiet. Maybe Bucky didn't want to talk about it, Steve thought to himself. Hopefully someday. Hopefully soon.

But then Bucky started to talk.

He talked about the dream that felt more like a memory. The dream in which he saw Steve drawing pretty pictures of dames. Dames that looked like Peggy, the fierce woman with bright red lips. He dreamed how the portraits of Peggy turned until figure drawings, which turned into provocative poses, first with clothes, then without. He remembered being turned on by the fine pencil lines, formed into temptation on paper.

"And then I asked whether you could draw me like that too," Bucky shyly said, "and you agreed. Oh God, I can't believe I am telling you this silly dream. I'm sorry. I always enjoyed watching you draw Stevie. That, I know. My mind conjured up this idea of you wanting to draw me. Let's be honest, we both know you wouldn't draw someone as simple and broken as me, right?" He looked up again to meet Steve's eyes and blushed a shy smile.

Steve on the other hand... his mind got blank, and then a million thoughts and feelings rushed through his mind and heart.

"Buck...," Steve whispered, happy tears crawling down his face, "that was not a dream. That was real. A memory. God." He was openly crying now. He kissed Bucky on the lips before he jumped out of bed and walked to their closet, retrieving a box with... sketchbooks. Sketchbooks that were filled with drawings of pretty dames, of Peggy, exactly like Bucky had dreamed of- no, _remembered_. There were tons of pages filled with charcoal and graphite, depicting Steve's brilliant view of the beauty he saw in women.

On the bottom of the box were 3 more sketchbooks, dated from '39, '41 and '42. One by one, Bucky flipped the hundreds of pages that displayed drawn pictures of himself.

The first sketchbook contained portraits: each of them accurate and delicately drawn. Bucky remembers Steve's slim fingers holding the charcoal stick while intensly focussed on drawing. Then the portraits turned into figure drawings. Bucky in everyday life settings. Most of them were pictures of Bucky being unaware of being drawn onto paper, but as he stared at himself in graphite, he could see the love and devotion that were put into these artworks.

The second sketchbook contained drawn pictures of Bucky during war. He recognized his likeness from the days after he got rescued by Steve. Images of him shirtless, images of his back muscles, his hands, his arms, stomach, thighs... Images of Bucky naked, sprawled across a chair. Bucky with a blush on his face while jerking himself off. Oh...

Then Bucky remembered it all. And these memories, they appeared in the 3rd sketchbook:

Bucky posed in whichever way Steve wanted him to: in silky underthings, in stockings that they secretly grabbed from Peggy (Steve literally wanted to draw Bucky like her! He's a man of his word, after all.) Bucky with his back arched between rumpled sheets. Bucky with his hands tied behind his back with his belt. Bucky on his knees, head bowed and blindfolded, coated in sweat as he strained against the bonds around his arms. His back covered in welts. His cock dripping pre-cum but not allowed to come. Cursing between clenched teeth, he struggled and suffered in the most delicious ways.

"Mmmmm.." Bucky groaned, "Steve, please... Please draw me like this again. Please?"

“Are you sure? After the things HYDRA put you through, how could I-“

“Please?” Bucky whimpered, “Steve, it’s ok. I want this. I want you. I _need_...”

“Ssh,” Steve stroked his right palm across Bucky’s cheek. They needed to discuss some rules, limits and needs. Honestly, Steve had thought about this before. About what they experienced together many decades ago. There was no way he ever expected Bucky to want their sexual dynamic change, like it used to be all those years ago. The thought never even occurred to Steve. Plus their love life was amazing ever since Bucky returned to him. There was nothing more he could have wished for.

But then again... how can Steve ever say no to James Buchanan Barnes, asking so sweetly about his newly recovered, deepest desires?

\-------

That brings us back to the livingroom of their appartment, where Steve is comfortably relaxing in a large, plush chair, while he is not drawing the skyline of New York City. Oh no, not at all.

Kneeling in front of him is his muse, the most beautiful model he has drawn so often, he could easily draw him from memory. Not this time, of course. This is for both of them. This is for Bucky, who is being good. He always is. Bucky who is quietly sobbing with tension and relief.

"It's okay sweetheart, let it all out. It's okay. You can let it go," Steve praised, "suffering so beautifully for me. Doing so well. So good for me."

A tear hit Bucky's thigh, then another, until he was crying an endless sea of tears. "Thank you," he hiccupped.

Adding the final lines of his 3rd sketch, next to the two that he previously made that morning, Steve smiled a wistful smile.

"Of course, my love," Steve said, "anything for you."

 

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Twitter and Instagram as HeroicPinups! See you there? ♡


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